


Nurmengard

by lokilette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Male Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokilette/pseuds/lokilette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nurmengard was known for housing one of the most dangerous Dark Wizards of all time, but if Albus and Gellert's plans prevail, it wouldn't be the Dark Wizard everyone expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nurmengard

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Rated M for steamy slash moments and violence. AU.
> 
> Author's Note: I usually don't write any sort of romance, per se, but I was challenged to do this so I thought I'd give it a try. Reviews are loved and appreciated.

**1945...**

 

“He's dangerous.”

The words slipped out like a sigh as he shuddered; whether it was from the cold or from the heat, Albus couldn't tell. The dampness of the tower settled on his skin like dew, and the cold clawed all the way to his bones, through every inch of his exposed torso. But there was a warmth along his back, a fire that spread to his core, scorching, burning every inch of his skin until it tingled with desire.

“So are we.”

Albus could feel Gellert's lips close to his neck, sending jolts of electricity down his spine with each warm puff of breath. They traveled along his shoulder, gentle like the flutter of butterfly wings, teasing—not quite touching but close enough to make his resolve quiver with anticipation.

“No, not like us. He has a basilisk.”

Albus tried desperately to cling to his train of thought. There was something about breathing him in, about feeling that bare chest pressed against his back and the pulsing of a heart, the way the shoulder-length curls caressed his bare skin that made it something like grasping at spider webs in the wind.

“We have a phoenix.”

From the corner, Fawkes stirred at his mention, cocking his head and turning one molten-gold eye to them. He was an oasis of color in the otherwise bleak room, a breath of brilliance against the stone, swathed in iridescent tongues of reds, oranges, and yellows. He trilled gently, decided they were of no interest, and returned to his nap.

“He was vying for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.”

“Dark Arts, hm?”

Gellert was taunting him again, withdrawing just enough so they were no longer touching. Albus could still feel the lingering, phantom warmth where his body had been. He longed to have the connection back, craved it like an addict, to the point where every fiber of him was saturated with desire. But he would not fight for it; he would not lean back in search of it. He refused to be subjugated so easily.

“You sound interested.”

“You sound jealous.”

The words were both tinged with amusement and hardened with mocking—a combination he pulled off flawlessly. Albus winced as teeth sank into his shoulder, bruising but not piercing the skin. It eased into a strong sucking, and then it was gone, and the cold slithered between them again. He understood what Gellert was saying:  _ You belong to me _ .

“An innocent girl died. Now that he's done with Hogwarts, there's no telling where he'll go.”

“What are you going to do?”

Albus was caught in a battle between Legilimency and Occlumency, searching in the darkness, but of course Gellert's defenses shielded his emotions.

“Nothing. For now, there is nothing I can do.”

As he spoke, Albus pulled away, slipping silver robes back over his head. The annoyance that leavened the air was palpable: small sparks that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. He had won this time, but that wasn't often the case.

He regarded his partner carefully—the gray that invaded his dirty-blond curls, making him look even more regal; the round, boyish face; the eyes that always burned with passion, the lips...

He was radiant, even when faced with the prospect of imprisonment.

“Will you really stay here?” Albus whispered, almost afraid of the answer.

“I don't appear to have much of a choice, do I? At least that little show positioned you in a convenient place. We must be getting old, though. Only lasted three hours. And then there's the Nott boy. A bit dull, and far too eager to follow powerful wizards, but at least the Ministry was tripping over themselves to accept your recommendation to have him as my caretaker. For now, at least, I'll have whatever I require.”

“Then I'll leave you. I have essays to grade anyway.”

“I dare say you're enjoying your position.”

“Perhaps so. More than I imagined I would. Children are rather interesting creatures. And terrifying. In equal measure.”

He nudged awake the phoenix, who had spent the afternoon dozing in the corner. Fawkes squawked, stretching his wings lazily.

“Time to return to Hogwarts, if you don't mind, Fawkes.”

The phoenix did, indeed, seem to mind, puffing his feathers in indignation at being so inconvenienced. Just the same, Albus found himself engulfed in a blaze of reddish-yellow flames.

 

**~oOo~**

 

**1943...**

“I didn', sir. I wouldn'!” the half-Giant spluttered, face flushed and eyes wide.

“Mister Hagrid—”

“I saw it, Professor. He brought a monster in here. I honestly don't think he meant it. I don't think he knew what that beast was capable of.”

“Thank you, Mister Riddle, but I—”

“He's lyin'! Aragog wouldn' hurt a fly, I swear!”

“Enough!”

Albus raised his voice slightly to silence both students. What a bothersome affair it all was. Obviously Rubeus Hagrid was not responsible for the girl's death. Anyone with half a brain could see that. What a shame it was that even Headmaster Dippet and Minister Spencer-Moon combined couldn't muster that much intellect. Of course they would jump on the first chance they had to dismiss the whole affair with no proof and no investigation.

“I believe you, Mister Hagrid.”

“Ya do?”

The teen's face lit up, and Albus held up a hand, shaking his head slightly.

“Unfortunately, I am not the one you need to convince. I will see what I can do, but, ultimately, Headmaster Dippet will have the final say.”

Hagrid's shoulders sagged, head bowed, haggard by a blame that was not his to bear. He wasn't nearly as dim as people assumed; he had enough forethought to see there was no way out. He shambled down the hall like a convict on his way to the Dementor's kiss.

Albus studied the remaining teenager. He was handsome, there was no doubting that, even as his features were lit with a barely-contained smugness. He had won.

“Thank Merlin you came along, Tom. Who knows what might have happened otherwise.”

“I'm just sorry it was too late to save the girl.”

Tom hung his head, contorting his face into a look of despair. It was a brilliant performance, enough to convince most people, but Albus wasn't fooled.

“Oh yes, it's quite a shame about her. Although, funny thing. The monster—Aragog, as Mister Hagrid called it—it's an Acromantula, isn't it?”

Jaw clenched, the sharp angles of his face accentuated. A shadow darkened his features. This was no fool.

“I didn't actually get a good look at it, _Professor.”_

The last word was strained, as if it was painful for him to even afford that much respect.

“Ah, of course. Shame. I was just thinking that it's not at all like an Acromantula to leave a body. They don't even normally kill their victims; they wrap them up for later.”

“I suppose. I can't say what its motives were.”

“No, no. I wouldn't expect you to. I'm just musing out loud. Though, if I were to find that girl's spirit and ask her, I do wonder what she would have to say about her death. Myrtle, I believe her name was.”

Tom was brooding now. The atmosphere thickened like a dark aura extending from his body. Albus almost enjoyed watching him seethe. Not nearly as cunning as he imagined himself, not nearly as invincible as he hoped to be.

“May I go now? I'm rather tired.”

“Of course, Tom. Go ahead.”

 

**~oOo~**

 

**1949...**

“You only come when you want something.” Gellert scoffed, circling him like a shark that's cornered its prey. Bare feet slapped against the cold stone with each slow, deliberate step.

“Shall I go?”

Gellert tsked and came to a stop behind him. Albus' heart raced as the man leaned in, lips tantalizingly close to his neck, to whisper.

“I might know a thing or two about horcruxes, although I wonder why I should tell you. So you can run off and not come again until it suits you? No, I think not. If you want the information, you'll have to convince me.”

His breath hitched as Gellert moved closer, erection pressing into his lower back. He shuddered involuntarily, seized by overwhelming passion. It hardly seemed like a fair trade with how much he craved it himself.

The stone nipped into his back, scratching his skin even through his clothes, as he was forced against the wall. Hands fumbled with his robes, wresting them off, and then lips were at his neck, biting, trailing down his chest. Albus was ablaze, every cell in his body smoldering with lust.

They collapsed to the floor, and he couldn't stifle the moan that broke through his defenses. Gellert smirked briefly before their lips met, tongues seeking each other out, warring for dominance. It was in vain; they both knew that Albus had already lost.

He felt Gellert—pressed against him, heart pounding loudly—tremble as he climaxed. There was something beautiful about such a powerful man humbled to such an extent, laying spent on the cold, stone floor, tangled up in naked limbs and discarded clothes. It was so alluring, so attractive.

“Horcruxes,” Gellert muttered, chest still heaving. “What did you want to know?”

“Is it possible to have more than one?” Albus rolled onto his side, letting his eyes linger on the wizard's naked body.

“Possible? I don't see why not. But the damage it would cause...”

“How many?”

“What?”

Gellert remained focused on the ceiling, but he frowned slightly.

“How many could a person make before it obliterates their soul?”

“How many. Yes, that's an interesting question. I should like to find out myself. Have you found someone foolish enough to try?”

“Riddle has two now, at least. Potentially more.”

“Dangerous, indeed. I suppose he thinks himself immortal?”

“Do you not?”

“I think him naïve and foolhardy.”

“What shall I do?”

“Watch him. Let me know when and if we need to handle the situation before it gets out of hand.”

Albus longed to lay there forever, bodies merging into one, but Gellert was already pulling away, yanking his robes back over his head. The message was clear: it was time for him to go.

 

**~oOo~**

 

**1948...**

“You managed to track her down, didn't you?” Minerva whispered, barely audible over the clacking of her shoes as she struggled to keep up with him as they made their way toward his office.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because I _know_ you've been looking. At least since I told you my suspicions, if not longer. I know I'm right, Professor.”

“These aren't matters for children, Ms. McGonagall. You should go back to your common room.”

“But she didn't do it! I've been doing a lot of reading about recent events, and I don't think this was an accident. Who keeps poison in their kitchen cabinet next to the sugar? I think everyone wants to believe it simply because she's a House-Elf. It's an injustice!”

“While I admire your attention to detail and your enthusiasm for the proper treatment for House-Elves, I'm afraid our conversation ends here.”

They reached the Transfiguration classroom, stopping just outside the door. Her instincts were keen, and she was perhaps the brightest wizard of her age, even being a second-year. She had come to the same conclusion he had: Hokey was innocent of murdering Hepzibah Smith. But he knew it wouldn't be suitable to involve a Second Year in whatever followed. One day she would be a sharp, ruthless witch, but she wasn't there yet.

“But, Professor—”

“Not this time, Ms. McGonagall.” Albus made certain that his tone reflected that the conversation was over. “If anything should come of it, I promise to fill you in.”

He left her there, stewing about having come so far and being denied. He closed the door behind and delivered a few non-verbal spells that would ensure he wouldn't be bothered.

Albus lowered himself into one of two armchairs by the fire, scooting closer to the House-Elf that occupied the other.

“Hokey, I need to know what you remember about the night Madame Smith was killed.”

“Madame?”

The word came out as more of a wheeze than anything. The House-Elf bore a strong resemblance to a withered-up, dry leaf, wasting away on the branch yet too headstrong to simply let go. Her eyes flitted around the room as if they could see things no one else could.

“Yes, Madame is gone. Dead. Hokey killed Madame.”

The House-Elf released a low, pitiful wail, like an animal being brutalized.

“I need to know what happened. Can you tell me?”

“Hokey made Madame's hot cocoa, like always, but Hokey...put something...in it...”

“Sugar?”

“Sugar? Yes, yes, sugar. No!” Hokey shook her head violently, clutching it between her hands. “No, Hokey was confused! Hokey mistook poison for sugar.”

“Where did you get the poison from?”

“Hokey thought...it was sugar...”

“People don't generally keep poison on their counters. Where did you get it from?”

The House-Elf went quiet, rocking back and forth in her chair with her twig-like arms wrapped around her torso. Her eyes were glossy, exploring a world somewhere which didn't exist. It was apparent that she would say nothing more on the subject, but there were other ways to get information from someone. With a deep breath, he entered her mind. Everything was fragmented, like trying to piece together the remnants of a shattered mirror.

_A dark room. Fear. So many wizards. They hate her. They're glaring. So many strange items. Dangerous items. Madame loves them, fills her house with them, but Hokey would just as soon never visit that place again._

_Madame's in the parlor; someone's at the door. Handsome wizard. Dark wizard. Madame is pleased with him. There are treasures on her table: a cup and a locket. He sees them, too. His smile—dangerous. His eyes—murderous. Hokey is a good House-Elf, must not question Madame's guests._

_Darkness. Confusion._

_Madame's in the parlor; someone's at the door._

_Dangerous._

_Murderous._

_Darkness._

_Madame wants hot cocoa._

_Hokey is a good House-Elf._

_Confusion._

_Sugar...Poison._

_Dangerous._

_Danger..._

_Death..._

 

**~oOo~**

 

**1957...**

Gellert smiled as his queen shattered the knight, sweeping the remnants of it off the board so they could continue the game.

“I dare say I had hoped your prowess at Wizard's Chess might have dulled since you've been here. I see I was wrong,” Albus said, giving an order to a pawn that obeyed reluctantly after what had happened to the knight.

“Your weakness is that you're not willing enough to make necessary sacrifices. Anything to protect the king. Even if that means losing pawns. Even if that means losing the queen.”

“I suppose you're right.”

Gellert surveyed the board for a minute. Albus loved watching his mind work, the way his eyes turned to ice as he calculated and planned. Concentration lent a lovely, lively glow to his aging features, proving without a doubt that one thing time could never unravel was his mind.

Gellert, apparently satisfied with the course he presumed the game would take, motioned to a pawn to move before leaning back in his chair.

“It seems I'll need to hire a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year. Ours seems to have had a rather unfortunate run-in with a wild Fwooper that was hiding somewhere in his house. By the time he found the bird, he'd already lost so much sense that he couldn't recall what to do with the thing.”

“You think it has to do with the boy? Riddle?”

“Hm. I can't say for sure. He wasn't particularly thrilled when I denied his request for the position. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he placed a curse on it.”

Albus took one of his pawns, and Gellert quickly moved another one on the other side of the board.

“Do you plan to remove it?”

“No, I see no need. For now, we'll let him believe we are unable to.”

“He's getting quite bothersome, isn't he?”

“Yes. Rumor is he goes by Lord Voldemort now.”

Albus ordered his queen to take one of Gellert's rooks, and she complied almost eagerly.

“Flight of death? Does he think himself clever?” Gellert scoffed. “Merlin, I bet he does.”

“I do believe it's time to get things in order, put people in their proper places. That is, of course, if you think you're ready to leave this tower.”

“Leave? I don't know, it's quite cozy here. I don't have to put up with any dimwitted brats having temper tantrums.” He barked out an order, and his queen moved into place. “Check. Let's just hope you're better at handling people than you are at Wizard's Chess.”

 

**~oOo~**

 

**1959...**

“Thank you for coming to see me, Abraxas. I trust you've been well?”

The man before him was wizarding elite and, as such, couldn't be trusted. His blonde hair was swept back in a neat tail, clothes pressed and crisp, shoes shined. Though he tried to hide it, Albus knew he was a Death Eater, but that didn't mean the man didn't have his uses.

“Quite, thanks.”

“And your boy? Lucius?”

“Already exhibiting signs of magic, even though he's only four. Not that surprising, given that he's a Malfoy.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I'm sure you didn't ask me here to find out about my family, so what is it you need, Headmaster?”

“Oh, yes. I was hoping you would do me a favor. I've been meaning to do it, but I just haven't had time.”

Albus crossed the room and opened a drawer of his desk, extricating a small, ribbon-adorned box. He held it out to Abraxas, who took it looking rather suspect.

“I promised Wilhelmina that I would bring her a present from my trip abroad recently. I imagine she thinks I've forgotten, but I've just been so busy. I know you'll be doing business with the Minister shortly, and I was hoping you could deliver them for me—just this once—with my apologies for taking so long.”

“Is this it?”

Abraxas' words were swimming with indignation, and he was practically bristling at the thought that he had been summoned to Hogwarts to play House-Elf. Albus found that he rather enjoyed his annoyance.

“No, no. I also had another purpose. I had a question, one that I think is well-suited to your expertise, what with your proficiency of magical items. I presume you've heard of the Elder Wand before?”

“You mean one of the Deathly Hallows? Of course I have.”

“I am most concerned about it. You see, it's come to my attention that the Dark Wizard Grindelwald may have had it in his possession at one point, but it was never recovered when he was sealed in Nurmengard. You can imagine, I'm sure, what the repercussions would be if someone like that were to possess something so powerful, given the position he's in?”

“I can.”

“Then can I trust that you will look into these rumors and keep me abreast of the situation?”

“Of course.”

“I also trust, given the levity of the situation, that this will remain just between you and I?”

“You have my word, sir.”

“Then you are free to go, Abraxas, and I thank you for your help.”

 

**~oOo~**

 

**1960...**

“You've come for the Elder Wand, haven't you Tom?” Albus called out, stepping between the wizard and the entrance to Nurmengard. The blistering winter wind yanked at his robes, which offered little warmth to shield against its icy tendrils. He came to the conclusion that he was getting far too old to have to worry about reminding children of their proper place.

“You knew he'd tell me.”

“You have a rather bad habit of being in all the wrong places. Of course you'd come.”

“Step aside. I'll not have you stand in my way of what belongs to me.”

“If you insist.”

Albus moved sideways, one foot and then the other crossing over as he walked, to clear a path to the door.

“You're free to go up, if you'd like. But you won't find what you're looking for. He doesn't have it; I do.”

With a flick of his wrist, Albus dislodged the Elder Wand from its position up the sleeve of his robe and held it out for Tom to see. The boy's eyes narrowed into slits, his face contorting into a combination of rage and amusement. A grin darkened his features further as he reached for his own wand.

“ _ Reducto! _ ”

A jet of light shot past Tom, and the ground in front of him exploded, showering him in a cascade of pebbles.

“Bloody hell, this wand! It seems my aim's not what it used to be.”

Gellert shook his wand, as if that would fix the thing, and stepped behind Tom so they had him boxed in.

“Are you sure it's the wand and not your eyesight? We're not as young as we used to be, Gellert.”

“Shut your mouth. My eyesight is fine, you bloody, old fool!”

Albus couldn't help but smile. They were older, perhaps, and certainly wiser to the ways of the world, than they had been back in Godric's Hollow, but they were together again.

“You can't defeat us both, Tom. Not on your own. Do yourself a favor and lay down your wand,” Albus called.

“Who said anything about doing it on my own?”

Tom's face was split by a defiant smirk as he pointed his wand toward the sky. A bolt of green light erupted from the tip of it as he said, “ _ Morsmordre.” _

 

**~oOo~**

 

**1959...**

“The Minister for Magic, Wilhelmina Tuft, has died tragically. The funeral was lovely, though. Who knew she was allergic to Alihotsy-flavored fudge?”

“Who indeed.” Gellert grunted, eyes trained on the ingredients he was mixing. The potion had turned a rather deep, forest green, thick and sludgy, with large bubbles breaking the surface occasionally. “And her successor?”

“I've convinced her son to make a play for power. He's a mostly harmless wizard, obsessed with breeding Dementors. I doubt he'll give us any trouble.”

Gellert threw a couple more ingredients in his pot and stirred it slowly. The mixture turned a dark, cement gray and released a putrid smell that was reminiscent of rotting flesh.

“What is it you're making?” Albus asked, wrinkling his nose.

“It's intended to be a memory-erase potion. I tested the first batch on a rat. It died. I wouldn't necessarily call that a failure, though it was perhaps a bit more extreme than what I was going for.”

“This may cheer you up. I've brought you something.”

Albus extricated from his robes a long piece of what looked like cylindrical bark, careful to not catch himself on one of the three red, thorny protrusions.

“It's been a while since I've seen this,” Gellert said as he took the wand, running a finger along its length while he inspected it. “I suppose this means that you've decided to keep the Elder Wand, then?”

“It no longer belongs to you, and I dare say you're in no condition to wrest it from me.”

“For now, perhaps.”

 

**~oOo~**

 

**1960...**

The Death Eaters appeared one by one, masks obscuring their faces like no one would know who they were. Just the idea of it was laughable.

Albus pointed his wand to the sky, casting a non-verbal _Expecto Patronum_. They were waiting for the sign, waiting to fight. With him, not for him. Friends, not followers. That would make all the difference.

The phoenix ascended towards the Dark Mark, a shimmer of gray against the black sky. In a flash of fire, Fawkes was beside it, calling out a low, ghostly note that rumbled in the distance and surrounded them.

Albus looked across to Gellert—the man he loved, trusted, would spend his life with—who bowed his head infinitesimally to indicate understanding. They were of the same mind, sharing a bond that was stronger, even, than the strongest Legilimens.

At the same time, they pointed their wands at the castle and cast a silent _Piertotum Locomotor_. The grinding and crunching of stone filled the air as a dozen gargoyles left their perches along the walls of Nurmengard and launched toward the Death Eaters. It was enough distraction, at least, to allow the back-up to arrive, and they did.

First McGonagall, apparating behind a very distracted Nott, who was fending off a couple of gargoyles. Then Alastor Moody, a rather skilled Auror who was the latest in a long line of them, rounding eagerly on Dolohov and matching him spell for spell. The others filtered in slowly—Filius Flitwick, Ignatius Prewett, Cedrella and Septimus Weasley, Augusta Longbottom—launching into the Death Eaters and holding them back. He was confident in their abilities, all young and exceptionally talented, and thus devoted his sole attention to the leader of the whole charade.

Albus and Gellert circled their wands simultaneously, setting the night ablaze with a stream of fiendfyre that enveloped them like an ouroboros, writhing and churning as if it had a life of its own. No one would interrupt them now.

There was no denying that Tom had grown into an exceptional duelist, able to hold his own, even when stacked up against two brilliant wizards. It was a shame, almost, that things had to end the way they did, but there was no helping it.

There was a rhythm to the fighting, almost like a dance—beautiful, magical, dangerous. _Protego, Expelliarmus, Protego Horribilis, Crucio, dodge, Bombarda, Confringo, Protego, Avada—, Expulso._

An explosion rocked the ground at Tom's feet, causing him to lurch forward and stumble. It was the briefest of distractions, but it was enough. Gellert let fly a _Crucio_ , forcing him further off-balance, as Albus cast a non-verbal _Expelliarmus._ Tom's wand flew from his hand, and a wild look settled into his eyes like an animal who's been cornered. It was over.

They moved at the same time, perfect mirrors of each other, Gellert casting _Aguamenti_ and Albus bending the water to his will, using it to encase Tom in a prison from which there was no escape.

“Fawkes! If you'll do the honors,” he called up to the bird that was circling overhead.

 

**~oOo~**

 

**1961...**

“The Dark Wizard Grindelwald escaped. There's still no sign of him.”

Minerva didn't sound the least bit surprised—she always was quite sharp—as she pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

“Yes, an unfortunate side effect of the battle. Though he did, however briefly, fight for our side.”

“Should we help in the search?”

Albus got the feeling that she was asking only to keep up appearances. There was a strange light in her eyes, and he knew that she was well aware of what had transpired, or at least pieces of it.

“I imagine the Ministry has it covered. Whether they prove successful or not is an entirely separate matter.”

“And Tom? What has become of him?”

“Hagrid quite generously volunteered to take him food once a day and keep an eye on him. He actually seemed quite eager for the opportunity, and, from what I understand, he's done a good job of it these past months. Seems in a bit higher spirits, too, might I add.”

“And you?”

“I will retain my post as Headmaster of Hogwarts. I've grown quite attached to this place. I should think, though, that this summer I might like to travel abroad.”

 

**~oOo~**

 

**1960...**

Like a beast in a cage, Tom prowled the length of the topmost cell of Nurmengard. He raged against his confinement, bellowing and throwing himself against the stone, all to no avail. Albus watched him through the small slit in the door.

“No!” he shouted, syllables echoing around the vast emptiness of the prison. “You will not do this! Do you hear me? You will not leave me here to rot!”

“I understand your frustration, Tom,” Albus called to him. The black eyes flicked around the room frantically, unfocused, finally landing on the door. Tom launched at it, kicking, clawing, scrambling for a way out. It was pointless; both he and Gellert had made sure it was properly fortified to contain him for the foreseeable future.

“Coward! You're a bloody coward. You haven't won! You've done  _ nothing.” _

“Oh, I don't know about that. I've succeeded in getting you here, and I'll succeed in keeping you here. I suppose that's something.”

“You have compassion, I know you do. You wouldn't let me sit here and waste away. Kill me. If you want to defeat me, kill me now! Do it!  _ Kill me! _ ”

“I wish I could. I agree, that is the kindest thing for you now. Unfortunately, you've tied my hands. I have no idea how many horcruxes you've managed to make thus far or where you've stashed them. I can't kill you, Tom, even if I wanted to. You're immortal.”

 


End file.
